THY bloom is soft, thine eyes are bright, And rose-buds are thy lips, my Fanny, Thy glossy hair is rich with light, Thy form unparagoned by any; But thine is not the brief array Of charms which time is sure to borrow, Which accident may blight to-day, Or sickness undermine to-morrow. No -- thine is that immortal grace Which ne'er shall pass from thy possession, That moral beauty of the face Which constitutes its sweet expression; This shall preserve thee what thou art, When age thy blooming tints has shaded, For while thy looks reflect thy heart, How can their charms be ever faded? Nor, Fanny, can a love like mine With time decay, in sickness falter; 'Tis like thy beauty -- half divine, Born of the soul, and cannot alter: For when the body's mortal doom Our earthly pilgrimage shall sever, Our spirits shall their loves resume, United in the skies for ever. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM PURIFICATION OF YE B. VIRGIN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST by FOWLER BRADNACK ORPHAN BORN by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE HOLLAND SONG FOR A DUTCH PICTURE by HILDA CONKLING |